Fated: Karma Series, Book Three
Read Fated: Karma Series, Book Three Online
Authors: Donna Augustine
Donna Augustine
To my readers,
When I started writing, it was for me. Then I found you. You started reaching out to me and telling me your stories. I still write for me, but now I also write for you.
Copyright © Donna Augustine 2015
Strong Hold Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, people or places is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Devilinthedetailsediting.com
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I didn’t think I could name one person who was all good or all bad. If I had to bet my life on it, I’d be as dead as the human body I’d left beside those train tracks months ago. There was no such thing, or at least, I’d yet to meet them. We’re all a woven tapestry, created with threads of various shades of wrongs and rights, some brighter, some darker, but never perfectly either.
In normal times—which these certainly were not—when I’d seen a group of people, there would have been an appearance of what I’d describe as a generic average. Maybe once I started to pick these mortals from the group, one by one, and delved deeper, I’d see that this person leaned more toward evil or that one leaned more toward good. The worst of them hid their flaws, their anger and corruptness, in the dark corners of life, the times when most aren’t looking.
But because most humans had the desire to fit within the norm of their culture, general civility hid the darkest traits. In better times, when people walked down the street on a sunny day, a layer of icing hid the sometimes moldy cake beneath, because most human beings had a natural compulsion to fall in line with what was considered the norm of their culture. It went all the way back to our hunter-gatherer years, when it was a necessity to be able to work as a team and being an outcast meant certain death.
But something had been unraveling, shifting in the psyche, or maybe in the very fabric that wove us all together. In the weeks since I’d met Malokin in that hotel things had changed. The threads of evil, that had been hidden from view and denied, were now being flown with banners. The few threads that had once been the shadows in the tapestry of who we were had become the dominant color of the piece.
The most worrying aspect was I wasn’t clear on what was causing it. I wasn’t entirely sure if this was Malokin’s doing or if he was a byproduct and if it was something that could be undone. Months ago, I’d seen hints of the chaos that was beginning to unfold now, but like so many before me I had brushed off a gut instinct as paranoia.
That foresight of potential upheaval, the one my gut had foreseen and been yelling at me to pay attention to, was blooming full force. People who had inclinations towards a dark side seemed to be on a downward slide and gaining speed. Assaults and burglaries had doubled in the last month and that wasn’t the worst. Murders had tripled. Rapes had gotten so bad that women were starting to fear walking the streets alone. It wasn’t only here in coastal South Carolina, either, or just the United States.
Crime was on the rise everywhere, and if you paid attention to the trends, like I did, you knew it was getting worse every day. The decay of the moral fiber of the human race had hit a tipping point and the downward slant was steepening.
It wasn’t all bad. There were some people who were going in the opposite direction. The good within them had blossomed. Strange how sometimes it took the worst of times to bring out the best in some. Unlikely heroes were rising all over the place, lending aid to the weak and easy prey. It gave me and everyone else around us—those who were still hanging on to who they were—hope, and we desperately needed that. Especially now, when everywhere I looked lately, things seemed to be unraveling.
Even as Smoke and I sat by the ocean, something that would have been uneventful a couple of weeks ago before the hotel and the rioting that went with it, there was a threat. A group of five boys, all in their teens, approached from a little way down the beach. They were close enough though that I could see the way they were appraising me. They were looking for trouble and considering me for some sport.
Was that what things were coming to? Would I have to fight children to survive? The idea of snuffing out a life before it even reached manhood sickened me.
It didn’t matter that every one of them had karma that was as dark and dingy as a used ashtray. Only the very best of humans, people who would’ve been near blindingly bright before, weren’t dark at this point. A month ago, they might’ve been normal. Perhaps a month from now, if we could figure out what was wrong, they would be light again. They wouldn’t have that chance if I killed them. And even if it were I who dealt the killing blow, in essence they’d be another victim of Malokin’s. The walking and talking personification of anger on Earth would have another notch on his belt and I’d again be doing his dirty work.
Smoke, more companion than cat and one of the best judges of personality I’d ever met, hissed as they got close. The black cat who had been born grey had been doomed to a position as an underachiever by factors of birth. Sort of like a ballerina with stumpy legs, some things just couldn’t be overcome.
“Keep walking,” I said, doing a little hissing of my own as they came within human hearing range, which was considerably shorter than my own.
The group of five eyed me, debating on if I had the claws to match the warning. Their step slowed in unison as they came closer. Then something caught their gaze behind me. Their steps quickened and they kept moving.
I leaned my weight back on my hands and then my elbows, letting my head fall back and my dark ponytail graze the sand so I could get him in my view. The tension, which had surged a moment before in anticipation of a fight, turned into an altogether different type of awareness. As I watched him come closer, there was a hint of something that I wasn’t quite ready to feel stirring in me.
“You know, I had that handled.” My hair blew as the wind kicked up and I enjoyed the ocean breeze on my skin.
“I’m sure.” Fate shoved his hands in his jeans’ pockets as he walked forward, looking completely relaxed even as he scanned the beach for any other possible threats.
“If you have any doubts, I can go chase them down and offer a demonstration.” I smiled as I said it, having no desire to do any such thing. It was a comment that simply continued on the larger unspoken discussion we’d been having. I was capable of protecting myself.
“But then you’d miss dinner,” he replied, going along with the ruse he’d been carrying out—that he felt completely comfortable letting me go off and handle things alone.
Fate and I had a strange way of communicating, or lack of it. I wasn’t sure how it had started or when, but we rarely discussed the important matters. We’d talk circles around them. Maybe we’d fallen into the habit back when I’d killed Suit, and we both decided to let the why of the situation drop.
It might have gone back even farther, to the very first time I met him. I still didn’t understand why, when he hadn’t wanted me there, he’d agreed to stay with me all those long days I’d been teetering on the edge, after my human form had died.
At this point, the habit of not actually saying what we meant was becoming pretty ingrained, for better or worse. We didn’t discuss any of the real issues between us. If it hit too close to the raw emotions that made us tick, they weren’t spoken of or asked about.
“If you chased after them, you might have to do that weird glow thing with your eyes. We wouldn’t want that to happen,” Fate said.
He dropped down to sit on his haunches by my side, and Smoke immediately went in for the petting. His faded denim looked nearly bare in places as Smoke rubbed her cheek against his knee, claiming him. His hands rubbed over her as she purred on full blast, eating up the attention. Hooker.
It was ridiculous that I was jealous of a cat but I’d felt those hands on me. They were masculine perfection and always knew just the right way to touch. A small thrill shot through my system at the memory of exactly that. It wasn’t often that I saw him and didn’t think of those times or breathe deeply when I was next to him, loving the masculine scent that reminded me of sandalwood and cedar.
“We don’t need to have dinner together every night.” The words came out and I immediately regretted them, as I often did, not understanding fully why I felt compelled to pull away when what I wanted was the exact opposite. I stared off at the horizon, watching the waves break, and tried to keep my demeanor relaxed while I awaited his response, like a sword held poised above my head.
We’d been dining together every night since things had started to get crazy. It had been another unspoken compromise. He’d shown up with boxes at my condo one night, telling me how perhaps I should store some things at his place, just in case. I’d agreed but then kept everything I actually used at my condo. It made sense with everything going on and also because of the vision of my fate he had, the one we didn’t speak of, where I was lying dead in a pool of my own blood.
I’d had dinner with him that night but then went home afterward. We’d fallen into a routine, one night turning into a standing dinner date. Sometimes I’d cook, sometimes he would, and occasionally we would have take-out. We’d strategize about work, Malokin, and what was happening then have a coffee afterward on the deck or maybe a drink. At some point I’d force myself, against my baser instincts, to leave. There’d be a moment before our goodbye when the invitation would be crystal clear in his eyes; a glance down the hall to where his bedroom was or a lingering hand at my waist as I moved to get up from the couch.
The thing was, I wanted to be with him. I wanted to live there and go skipping down the beach, watch the sunrise hand in hand and every other goofy cliché I’d never thought I’d need or experience since I’d started this new life. But that wasn’t what was being offered.
Protection? Check. Sex? He’d been dropping plenty of hints he was ready and waiting.
But love? Now that didn’t seem to be on the menu, or not on his, at least. No mention of deeper feelings or even a carrot, far off in the future to chase, a dangling promise that would allow me to rationalize that maybe he did have deeper feelings for me. Something that would let me think this was the real thing for him and that he just needed time. But he wasn’t giving me anything to hang my hat on and reality, a pesky nuisance I’d never been able to ignore very well, would hit me upside the head.
Fate had lived for a minimum of centuries. That I was fairly certain of. And in all the details I’d gleaned from him, over the time I’d known him, not once had there been any mention of a long-term relationship. If, in all these years, he’d never once had a commitment that lasted longer than a week, what made me think I’d be different?
It wasn’t like that for me. I was going down and hard. There are a few things in life that suck really badly. Loving someone who doesn’t love you back is one of them. I’d thought I’d learned my lesson with Charlie, my ex fiancé. I’d thought losing him, and then having to watch him build the life I thought we’d share from the outside, had been bad.
When I looked at Fate—when he gave me that flirty smirk he sometimes did or a part of him brushed against a part of me—I glimpsed what true heartache looked like. What I’d felt for Charlie had been love; I was certain of it. Or a type of love, anyway, the kind that was comforting and calm, soft and let you sleep easy at night.
“You’re not bailing on dinner.”
Hearing those words, I could breathe again, and he turned and gave me that smirk.
I wondered if he knew what he was doing? If he had any idea how some of the things he did affected me? The sizzle I felt being near him was so intense but I couldn’t figure out if they were fireworks or warning flares.
As far as my gut instinct was concerned, the only thing it was telling me as far as Fate went was, there was no soft fall. I’d go down hard, with no chance of bouncing back. He’d be it. If it was just a fling to him? There would be no rebound after he broke my heart, just a hard crash that I’d never recover from. And as much as I thought to myself that I needed to
not
walk down that path, because I might be going alone, I nodded, taking another step, again, like an addict saying I’d quit tomorrow, just one more time.
I’d once heard a Chinese proverb that said, “
You’ll end up where you’re heading
.” All those little steps would still take me to the same destination, just a bit slower, and it scared the hell out of me.
“It’s getting worse and the decline seems to be increasing,” he said, his eyes scanning the horizon and his voice edgier than before, when he’d been teasing.
Work. That was safe ground. I wasn’t sure what that said about me, that I’d prefer a discussion about the coming apocalypse over my feelings for a confirmed bachelor. Still, I’d grab the lifeline with both hands if it got me out of my own head for a little while.
I nodded. He
was
right. You could taste it in the air every time you stepped out of your door. The feeling of violence, which had been just a taste weeks ago, had been growing steadily into a full on all-you-can-eat buffet.
“I don’t think anyone should be staying alone at this point. It’s not safe.” His eyes, appearing so dark sometimes, practically glowed with green emerald flecks as they stared at me.
“I know,” I replied, agreeing with the sentiment but not offering any solution, wondering if I’d be better off fending for myself against the angry mob than sleeping feet from him. How long would my willpower hold up? Death by fire or a beating from an angry mob? I’d have to think on that a bit more.
“But you’re not going to listen.” He didn’t need to elaborate on how he felt about that. It was clear in his voice.
“I’m listening. I just haven’t made a decision.” I let my head drop back to stare at the clouds. Why couldn’t he say
I’m falling for you and can’t spend another night without you in my arms?
It was so much more romantic than
I think you’re going to be raped and murdered so let’s shack up together and probably have sex because, hey, you’re right there and isn’t this convenient.
At least if he’d said he was falling for me, I’d have an excuse. When it eventually went bad, I could fall back on the position that he had lied and how could he have done that to me. It would have been a lot easier to go down with delusions and a scapegoat neatly lined up.